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 VIKING
An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC
penguinrandomhouse.com

Copyright © 2024 by Shubnum Khan

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Grateful acknowledgment is made for permission to reprint the following:

Rumi poems from the book Rumi: The Beloved Is You by Shahram Shiva
Translation of Iqbal’s “The Bird’s Lament” from Urdu to English by Taahir Umar

LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA

Names: Khan, Shubnum, author.

Title: The Djinn waits a hundred years / Shubnum Khan.
Description: Frist edition. | [New York] : Viking, [2024]
Identifiers: LCCN 2023002965 (print) | LCCN 2023002966 (ebook) | ISBN 9780593653456
(hardcover) | ISBN 9780593653463 (ebook)
Subjects: LCGFT: Novels.
Classification: LCC PR9499.4.K476 D55 2024 (print) |
LCC PR9499.4.K476 (ebook) | DDC 823/.92—dc23/eng/20230123
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2023002965
LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2023002966

Art direction: Roseanne Serra

Cover design: Lisa Pompilio
Cover images: Shutterstock

designed by meighan cavanaugh, adapted for ebook by cora wigen

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the
author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,
businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

pid_prh_6.1_145852931_c0_r0
 Contents

Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication

Part One
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen

Part Two
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four

Part Three
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen

Acknowledgments
About the Author
In memory of Abbajaan, our first storyteller
Part One
 Prologue

1932

I n an old wardrobe a djinn sits weeping.

It whimpers and murmurs small words of complaint. It sucks its
teeth and berates the heavens for its fate. It curses the day it ever
entered this damned house. It closes its eyes and tries to imagine a time
before it came here, before it followed the sound of stars from the shore,
before the world turned dark and empty.
Something thuds somewhere and the djinn is drawn from its misery by a
commotion happening outside. It stops to listen and sounds begin to
emerge; doors bang, windows shut, and things are thrown about. There are
shouts as orders are given and people hurry through passages. They run up
and down and bump heavy things along the stairs.
The djinn pauses, then it uncurls its limbs, swings open the cupboard,
and steps out.
There is the patter of footsteps, then the front door slams downstairs and
everything is suddenly still.
The djinn steps into the passage and looks around curiously. The floor is
scattered with clothing and bedding. It wanders into the rooms; in a child’s
bedroom, next to a smoking fireplace, twenty-seven plastic soldiers wait for
a French army to advance. In a woman’s bedroom, a silk camisole slips off
a swinging hanger in a closet.
The djinn creeps downstairs. In the kitchen, a dish of potatoes soaks
beneath a dripping tap. Steam rises from a set-aside kettle. A basket of fresh
laundry waits to be ironed.
 The djinn wanders into the long dining room, among the high-backed
chairs, and peers into the entrance hall where a grandfather clock ticks
loudly. It pulls open the heavy front doors and looks into the bright, clear
light of early morning. The stone stairs are strewn with opened trunks and
scattered books. The driveway lies empty. The djinn steps outside into the
pale pink light and looks to the still, shimmering ocean.
It turns to the looming house behind and wails.
 One

2014

N o one in Durban remembers a Christmas as hot as this.

The heat is a living breathing thing that climbs through
windows and creeps into kitchens. It follows people to work and
at queues in the bank and on trains home. It crouches in bedrooms, growing
restless until at night in fury it throttles those sleeping, leaving them
gasping for breath. It sweeps through the streets and bursts open pipes,
smashes open green guavas, and splits apart driveways. It burns off
fingerprints and scorches hair and makes people forget what they are doing
and where they are going so that they wander around beating their heads.
At the taxi rank in town people wave newspapers under their arms and
wipe their foreheads with pamphlets that promise to bring back lost lovers.
Witch doctors’ phone numbers drip down their temples and into their
pockets in inky-blue puddles. Bananas blacken in the sun on pavement
tables. The humidity grows and strangers are drawn to one another without
meaning to and they cling together in a sweaty unhappy mess.
Out in the suburbs people sit in their inflatable pools with party hats and
sip cheap wine from plastic cups. They eat bunches of litchis and hunks of
watermelon and burn meat black on the braai. Maidless madams push hair
out of their eyes as they hang up washing and count down to the end of the
holidays. Dirty dishes pile up in sinks, garbage bags burst open with
maggots.
At the coast the sky opens wide and burns the sea white. Little children
in multicolored swimsuits skip across the hot sand and shriek in thrilled
agony. Families with pots of biryani and lukewarm Coke sit under small
umbrellas fanning themselves with Tupperware lids as they dish rice onto
paper plates.
The pier stretches on to eternity like a foreboding finger.

• • •

Sana Malek winds down her window and searches for a breeze. The dark
curtain of hair flies off her neck to reveal her mother’s chin, and she turns
this way and that as she struggles to make it her own. She is neither girl nor
woman, hovering in that space between the two, where at the edge of her
thoughts, curling at the eaves, is the glimpse of a fluttering light that
promises something wonderful: a knowledge that the world is going to
change.
She carries it close to her chest like a secret box.
She is going Home. It is not really home, but her father says it is because
he believes it. He says Home can be many places, even places you haven’t
been before. He says Home can also be a memory if you return to it enough.
Sana wants to know exactly how many times you have to return to make a
memory Home and her father says you will know when it happens.
Which isn’t really an answer but she accepts it anyway.
She accepts many things about him, like the fact that he lives by a
collection of axioms of his making: Home can be a memory, rivers are more
reliable than roads, and the ground keeps problems in. She accepts he will
never be like the fathers she reads about, strong-minded and determined,
wearing suits and cracking knuckles. She accepts that without her mother
he has lost some anchor and like a ship he has strayed off into uncharted
waters. And so when he announces one morning that he has finally found
Home, she is not surprised and simply packs up and leaves with him in their
Isuzu.
Since her mother’s death four years ago her father has become obsessed
with coastal towns, marking cities along maps. He studies weather graphs
and learns about the histories of towns along the South African coast. The
west coast, he says, has many good things, like mussels and otters and
small, wild roads, but it is cold and windy and there are too many white
people. You can’t trust a place with too many white people, he says. The
east coast has warmer waters, smoother stones, and a brighter sun—and
warm places help you forget the past. They help you leave behind the
painful things, he adds.
When they enter the city, the salt hits the air and a streak of blue skims
the horizon. They work their way toward the ocean, passing little shops,
conference centers, and brick buildings, and come to a knot of streets filled
with graffiti, the smells of cooking food, and blaring foreign music. As they
move past Nigerian pawnshops and Somali haberdasheries, African
immigrants give way to Asian ones as Pakistani chicken tikka stalls emerge
between Chinese fashion outlets. Farther down, Indian immigrants adjust
the signs of their small spice stores, shift uneasily away from the crowds of
new foreigners, trying to make it clear they are not as fresh off the boat.
They tack signs onto their storefronts that say ESTIMATED 1918 and mutter
about the good old days when everything did not come from China, when
customers filled their stores searching for quality cloth and spices.
The secret box in Sana’s chest throbs. She is on the brink of womanhood
and everything feels full and heavy with expectation; there are Discoveries
That Are Waiting and Experiences to Be Had, and for a moment she allows
herself the pleasure of wondering what a new life will be like.
Everything feels shivery and waiting.
“I think we’re close,” her father says, pointing to the small mosque with
a green dome on the side of the street. He turns down a narrow road
between apartment buildings that press so close together people can pass
notes or pots between the windows, if they like. After a moment the tight
buildings fall away and the land opens up around them.
They are driving up a hill along the ocean.
At the top they find a rusting gate, which she swings open for the Isuzu
to pass. Ahead of them, in front of the driveway, stands a large house
distorted by the shadows of the setting sun. Its windows seem to turn like
empty eyes to watch them as they drive up.
 Sana wonders if Home can be something that swallows you up.
They turn into a gravel driveway, and in the last of the light Sana sees
that the entrance has the crumbling stone letters “Akbar Manzil” above it.
She looks up and on the top floor she sees a figure: a girl outlined in the
arched window above, watching them. Sana’s breath catches and she closes
her eyes quickly. She tells herself she is imagining things, that she is just
tired from the journey. That nothing can follow her here. She counts to ten
and opens her eyes.
The window is empty.
She sighs in relief and jumps out of the car and begins helping her father
off-load the luggage. As she heaves out bags, she hears the front door open.
In a pool of yellow light in the doorway stands an old man leaning on a
cane. He smiles, limping as he comes toward them.
“Welcome!” he calls out.
Behind him the lights in the house stutter and go off.
 Two

S ana opens one eye slowly.

The whole world creeps in through a hazy light. The room is bare
except for her mattress, a cupboard, and an open suitcase on the
floor. Dust sits quietly on everything. The windows hold tattered curtains
that sunshine passes through easily.
She tries to lie still, but she’s forgotten how. On the farm everything had
been still. The silence was a complete thing. She could touch it with her
fingers, taste it with her mouth, and sit in it like bathwater. Things took time
on the farm; they gathered and grew. You sat and drank tea on the stoep and
didn’t think about whether it was day or night. But here she feels life being
lived; outside the curtains people are shouting, children are laughing, trains
are running, and buses are leaving.
The world is no longer a quiet place. Like unpicking stitching, she has to
slowly undo the thread that keeps the sound in.
Sana comes from a quiet world and so she is a quiet girl. Words are
obtrusive things that are too heavy, too solid for her mouth. She sidesteps
and maneuvers them like furniture in a room. In a way she has forgotten
how to speak; her language has turned into a collection of gestures and nods
and whispers. Her quietness unnerves people; they speak more when they
are around her to make up for her silence, eventually raising their voices,
straining their necks, laughing loudly, using excessive gestures, and
becoming exhausted from the effort. Then, suddenly conscious of their
behavior, they turn nervous, string their hands into their necklaces or agitate
rings around their fingers; they tap their feet and begin to sweat and they
blame her for their discomfort, the fear she unexpectedly elicits in them.
They begin to despise her for her quiet instigation, feel brutish and uncouth
and eventually avoid her altogether, making circles around her at family
functions, pretending that she does not exist.
Eventually she begins to disappear into furniture, against walls, her bare
ends blending into things like the end of a brushstroke. Perhaps this is the
reason they begin to forget that she is there; they cannot find her edges, the
parts of her to pull out from the background to identify her by. They walk
past her, talk through her, and are surprised when she stands up too
suddenly.
Or perhaps it is simply that they refuse to see her because they cannot
understand the way she holds herself—so composedly, still as water,
unperturbed by such bare edges.
Unaffected by her tragedies.
In a world devoid of sound, she embraces one of shapes. She wonders
how letters fit into words and words fit into mouths and mouths fit into
other mouths without letting go of the words. She wonders about in-
between parts like bridges, ears, and tongues, places that forever remain
journeys and never destinations.
In her new room she spreads herself across the floor and against the
walls and tries to gauge how much of her fits where:
She is half the length of her bedroom windows. She makes up a third of
her doorway. She is eight size-seven steps away from the bathroom. If she
lies on the floor, she is the length of the space between her bedroom door
and her father’s. She can do three somersaults from her bedroom to the
kitchen. She fits in the cupboard below the sink.
Just.
The sound of life being lived outside the curtains becomes unbearable
and Sana throws open the windows. The air outside is hot and muggy and
the day is just beginning.
At the bottom of the hill a knot of streets begin that lead into the heart of
the town: here people leave their flats and turn onto the main road with bags
and documents and other important things to catch buses and taxis. Those
left behind—toddlers, mothers, men who limp, and the elderly—shuffle
across their rooms behind thin curtains. The women in their gowns cook
smoky breakfasts, dye their hair a streaky brown with the tint running down
the sides, and occasionally cry into toilet paper in the bathroom.
She leaves the window and digs through clothes in the open suitcase; she
locates a crumpled kurti, too big in the shoulders, something passed down
from some distant family member; yellow embroidered cotton with cloth-
covered buttons that run down the front. She slips on the long tunic, then
puts on a pair of jeans and pulls on her shoes, plastic gum boots that
somehow make her feel prepared. She brushes her hair, clips it to one side,
and adjusts her mother’s chin. She holds a particular roughness, a looseness
to her gait and clumsiness to her manners that comes from being an
unmothered daughter. She tries to smooth down the creases in her shirt with
her hand and for a moment through the thin material she brushes the uneven
skin of the scar running above her right hip. She stops suddenly then, and
cautiously looks around, but nothing happens and, relieved, she leaves the
room and enters the kitchen.
Her father, Bilal Malek, is standing on a stool in the middle of the
kitchen and screwing in a light bulb.
“Ah, you’re awake. I have good news and bad news. Which do you want
first?” he asks as she comes in.
“Bad,” she says as she leans against the doorframe and watches him.
“Doctor says the electricity is uh—not entirely stable. He says it can be a
little . . . moody. But the good news.” He rubs his hands together, “is that I
changed some bulbs so it won’t be so dark in here anymore,” he says,
smiling.
The night before, the electricity that fled on their arrival abruptly
returned as they were carrying boxes upstairs and they discovered the only
light that worked in their apartment was a dim bulb in the kitchen that
shuddered every few minutes. They lit stubby candles they found rolling in
kitchen drawers and had to feel their way to their rooms, where they dusted
sheets and emptied boxes, using their fingers to feel for toothbrushes,
towels, and pajamas.
“You know Doctor stopped taking tenants for years? He says he’d been
meaning to put that ad in the paper for so long but just never got down to it.
I told you—it all works out in the end. This was just waiting for us—I mean
no one’s lived here for years.”
“I can’t imagine why,” says Sana to herself as she steps over a number of
pots that are scattered on the floor to collect dripping water from the
ceiling.
“It’s not so bad,” Bilal says, catching her words. “Look, already one light
is fixed,” he says as he climbs down and hits the switch. The new bulb in
the grimy light fitting remains dead.
He frowns. “Ha! That’s strange. It must be something else, maybe a
fuse,” he says as he scratches his head. “I’ll have to check it again later
when I find my toolbox.” He wipes his hands on a dishcloth. “I’m going to
buy some groceries from town—you want to come?”
She shakes her head.
He nods and walks to the crooked door and then turns.
“I think she would have liked this place. She would have said it has . . .
character.”
Sana pauses. Says nothing.

• • •

As he shuts the door behind him, Sana looks around and thinks: She would
have hated this place. She would have said it was filthy and falling apart.
She would have said he was out of his mind for coming here.
 Three

F or a long time Akbar Manzil was the grandest house on the east
coast of Africa.
When ships from Europe came into the harbor, those on board
caught sight of the outrageous manor with its Palladian windows, marble
parapets, Romanesque towers, and golden domes. The astonished travelers
pointed to the strange structure on the hill and declared among themselves
that there was indeed hope for the Dark Continent if such development
existed right at the bottom.
It was a sign that civilization (however bizarre) was possible.
But as with many great ambitions in the world, the house was abandoned
and soon fell into neglect and began to deteriorate. With an overwhelming
responsibility the house passed hands from auction to auction until the local
municipality made the financial decision to convert the giant structure to
house tenants. The contractor, a cheap draftsman, was called in because no
architect would agree to a project involving such mutilation.
After thirty-seven years of lying abandoned, the house was reopened and
a group of municipal workers with hammers, tape measures, and pencils
made their way up the hill. The designs of the new apartments were
awkward, flimsy, and downright peculiar. Trembling rooms were hacked
into, misshapen bathrooms were pushed into corners, kitchens rose up
inside of bedrooms, walls were broken into to make way for plumbing, and
passages were squeezed between rooms like struggling arteries. Smoke rose
from the windows and the walls began to stretch, then crack.
Outside on the hill, the house began to swell slightly, like a mouth after
treatment at the dentist.
Another random document with
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 18. PRUNUS ANGUSTIFOLIA Marshall
1. Marshall Arb. Am. 111. 1785. 2. Torrey and Gray Fl. N. Am. 1:407.
1840. 3. Loudon Arb. Fr. Brit. 2:705. 1844. 4. Sargent 10th Cen. U. S.
9:66. 1883. 5. Watson and Coulter Gray’s Man. Ed. 6:152. 1889 (in part).
6. Gray For. Trees N. A. 47, Pl. 1891. 7. Sargent Sil. N. Am. 4:25, Pl. 152.
1892. 8. Mohr Cont. U. S. Nat. Herb. 6:551. 1901.
P. chicasa. 9. Michaux[132] Fl. Bor. Am. 1:284. 1803. 10. Nuttall Gen. N.
Am. Pl. 1:302. 1818. 11. Elliott Sk. Bot. S. C. and Ga. 1:542. 1821. 12.
Hall Pl. Texas 9. 1873. 13. Ridgway Proc. U. S. Nat. Mus. 65. 1882. 14.
Chapman Fl. Sou. U. S. 131. 1897.

Plant seldom becoming a true tree, usually, however, forming a small

but distinct trunk with a twiggy, bushy top; bark thin, dark reddish-brown,
slightly furrowed or roughened, scaly; branches slender, usually zigzag
with long, thin thorns or spine-like branchlets; branchlets slender, zigzag,
glabrous, glossy, bright red; lenticels few, scattered, yellowish, raised.
Winter-buds small, obtuse, free, brownish; leaves folded upward,
lanceolate or oblong-lanceolate, pointed at both ends, thin,
membranaceous, margins closely and finely serrate with minute teeth,
tipped with glands; upper surface glabrous, lustrous, bright green, lower
surface glabrous or pubescent in the axils of the veins, dull, two-thirds inch
wide and from one to two inches long; petioles one-half inch long, slender,
glabrous or tomentose, bright red with two red glands near or on the base
of the leaf; stipules one-half inch long, narrow-lobed, serrate with gland-
tipped teeth.
Flowers appearing with or before the leaves, small, less than one-half
inch across, very numerous; umbels sub-sessile, two to four-flowered,
from lateral spurs or buds; pedicels glabrous, slender, one-half inch in
length; calyx-tube campanulate, glabrous; calyx-lobes obtuse, glabrous
outside, margins ciliate, inner surface pubescent, reflexed; petals creamy
in the bud, obovate, apex rounded, narrowing into a claw at the base;
filaments and pistils glabrous, the latter shorter than the stamens.
Fruit ripening early; spherical or ovoid, three-quarters inch in diameter,
bright red, sometimes yellow, glossy, with little or no bloom; dots
numerous, very conspicuous; skin thin; flesh tender, juicy, yellow, subacid;
quality rather poor; stone small, clinging, ovoid, turgid, slightly roughened,
cherry-like, edges rounded, the dorsal one grooved.
 The original home of Prunus angustifolia is not known. The
inference is left in most of the botanies that the species is not
indigenous in the region east of the Mississippi, but that it was
brought by the aborigines from the southwestern section of the
Mississippi Valley or possibly the southern Rocky Mountains or
Mexico. The chief reason for the belief that it does not belong where
it now grows is the fact that it is usually found near human
habitations and on the margins of fields and as it was known to have
been cultivated by the Indians,[133] it is supposed to have escaped
from their semi-cultivated plantations. Bailey[134] dissents from the
current view, holding that the plant behaves like a true native in
regions where he has known it, Maryland in particular. It seems to
the writer that Bartram’s supposition, given in the foot-note below,
has been followed too closely. A careful study of recent botanical
works indicates that the species is indigenous to the southeastern
United States.
Whatever the original habitat may have been it is now found in the
wild state from southern Delaware to Florida and westward to the
Panhandle of Texas and southern Oklahoma. It is usually found on
rich soils but is found as well in worn-out fields and pastures, most
often in thickets of small trees or thorny shrubs or scraggly bushes,
producing under the latter conditions a small fruit so like cherries as
to give it the name in some localities “Mountain Cherry” (Maryland),
and in others “Wild Cherry” (Louisiana).
There has been much confusion in regard to Prunus angustifolia.
The older botanists very generally mistook this species for Michaux’s
Prunus chicasa which, as stated in the foot-note on page 82, is
almost certainly not the plum under discussion. Practically all
horticulturists ascribe to Prunus angustifolia a great number of
cultivated varieties which cannot by any possibility belong here;
indeed, it is doubtful if the species is cultivated at all other than very
locally, and still more doubtful as to whether, as compared with other
native plums, it is worth growing. In spite of this confusion the
species is one of the most distinct of plums, and its characters are
comparatively constant throughout the range. A careful reading of
Humphrey Marshall’s description of Prunus angustifolia by
subsequent botanists might have helped to keep this plum in its
place. Marshall wrote of it:
“Prunus angustifolia. Chicasaw Plumb. This is scarcely of so large
a growth as the former [P. americana], but rising with a stiff, shrubby
stalk, dividing into many branches, which are garnished with smooth,
lance-shaped leaves, much smaller and narrower than the first kind
[P. americana], a little waved on their edges, marked with very fine,
slight, coloured serratures, and of an equal shining green colour, on
both sides. The blossoms generally come out very thick and are
succeeded by oval, or often somewhat egg-shaped fruit, with a very
thin skin, and soft, sweet pulp. There are varieties of this with yellow
and crimson coloured fruit. These being natives of the Southern
states, are somewhat impatient of much cold.”
The tree-characters given by Marshall are hardly those of the plum
under cultivation which we have been calling Prunus angustifolia,
and his statement that the species is “impatient of much cold” at
once separates the cultivated “Angustifolias” from the true species.
We shall contrast the tree-characters of the two groups of plums in
the discussion of Prunus munsoniana. Of the hardiness of the two it
may be said that the cultivated varieties which we have placed in the
last named species are for the most part hardy as far north as
Burlington, Vermont, while the true Prunus angustifolia cannot be
grown to fruiting as far north as Geneva, New York. Its behavior, too,
on the northern limit of its range, and the fact that it did not follow the
aborigines northward as it seems to have followed them from place
to place within its range, show that Prunus angustifolia belongs in
the southern states.
This plum was well known by the early colonists of Virginia and
southward. John Smith in Virginia, in 1607-9, and Strachey, writing a
few years later, saw “cherries much like a damoizm, but for their
taste and cullour we called them cherries.” Beverly in his History of
Virginia, written in 1822, speaks of two sorts of plums, “the black and
the Murrey Plum, both of which are small and have much the same
relish with the Damasine”; the latter was probably the Angustifolia.
Lawson in his History of Carolina speaks of several plums,[135] one
of which, the Indian plum, must have been the fruit of the present
discussion. Bruce[136] quotes a letter from William Fitzhugh, written
in 1686, in which the latter speaks of the “Indian Cherry,” meaning of
course, this plum; for it still passes under the same name.
Of the horticultural possibilities of Prunus angustifolia, little can be
said from this Station as the trees cannot be grown here. But since
the species has been so long known, and is so near at hand to fruit-
growers, without more of its offspring coming under cultivation, it is
not likely that it may be counted upon to bring forth much in the
future for the orchard. Such trees and fruits of this species as the
writer has seen are not at all promising for the cultivator.

PRUNUS ANGUSTIFOLIA WATSONI (Sargent) Waugh[137]

1. Waugh Vt. Sta. An. Rpt. 12:239. 1899. 2. Bailey Cyc. Am. Hort. 1450
fig. 1901.
P. watsoni. 3. Sargent Gar. and For. 7:134, fig. 1894. 4. Waugh Bot.
Gaz. 26:53. 1898. 5. Bailey Ev. Nat. Fr. 218. 1898.

Shrub four to ten feet high; branches slender, short-jointed, zigzag,

reddish-brown; branchlets at first bright red and lustrous, later becoming
brownish-red or sometimes ashy-gray; lenticels few and light-colored;
leaves small, ovate, apex acute, base rounded or cuneate, margins finely
crenulate; upper surface glabrous, shining, lower surface paler, glabrous;
petioles reddish, one-half inch in length, biglandular at the apex.
Flowers in fascicles of two to four, borne with or before the leaves and in
great abundance; calyx cup-shaped, the lobes acute, eglandular, ciliate on
the margins, pubescent on the inner surface; petals white, obovate,
contracted into a claw at the base; filaments glabrous, anthers reddish,
style slender, exserted; pedicels one-quarter inch long.
Fruit two-thirds inch in diameter, globose, sometimes oblong, orange-
red, bloomless, handsome; skin thin, rather tender; flesh yellow, juicy,
tender, pleasant flavor; of comparatively high quality; stone somewhat
turgid, compressed at the apex, thick-walled, rounded on the ventral and
sometimes on the dorsal suture.

Prunus angustifolia watsoni is the Sand plum of the plains, being

an inhabitant of southern and southeastern Nebraska and central
and western Kansas and possibly passing into western Oklahoma. It
is usually found along the banks of streams and rivers where it often
forms shrubby thickets. The wild plums are held in high esteem for
dessert and culinary purposes, becoming a commercial product in
parts of the region in which they grow, and are occasionally
transplanted to the garden or orchard. From such transplantings a
half dozen varieties have arisen. The productiveness, hardiness to
heat and cold and the size and quality of the fruits should attract
plum-growers in the region of its habitat and experimenters
elsewhere as well. Waugh[138] gives the following interesting sketch
of the use to which this plum has been put in Kansas:

“Early settlers in Kansas, before their own orchard plantings came into
bearing, used to find the sand plums well worth their attention. In July and
August everybody for fifty miles back from the Arkansas sand hills used to
flock thither to pick, and it was an improvident or an unlucky family which
came off with less than four or five bushels to can for winter. Whole wagon
loads of fruit were often secured, and were sometimes offered for sale in
neighboring towns.
“The fruit gathered from the wild trees was of remarkably fine quality,
considering the conditions under which it grew. The plums were quite
uniformly large—I would say from memory that they often reached three-
fourths of an inch to an inch in diameter. They were thin-skinned and of
good flavor, not having the unpleasant astringency of the wild Americana
plums, which were also sometimes gathered. They were excellent for
canning and made the finest of jelly.
“Naturally, the settlers who went every year to the sand hills for plums
brought back trees to plant in the gardens they were opening. Almost
every farm within the range mentioned above had a few or many of the
dwarf trees growing. Some of these were fruitful and worth their room, but
most of them have now died out, or are neglected and forgotten. This is
because people have paid no attention to their selection, propagation and
cultivation. Further than this, however, the sand plum has often failed
signally to come up to its record when transferred to cultivation. It seems
not to adapt itself readily to a wide diversity of soils and conditions.”

The sub-species is easily mistaken for the species; in herbarium

specimens it is almost impossible to distinguish between them, but in
general the Sand plum differs from Angustifolia in its dwarfer habit,
shorter-jointed, zigzag, ashy-gray branches, smaller but thicker
leaves, larger, thicker skinned and better flavored fruit which ripens
later, and in a smaller and somewhat differently marked stone. In
distinguishing the two groups some allowance must be made for the
adaptability of plums to different environments.

PRUNUS ANGUSTIFOLIA VARIANS Wight and Hedrick

Plant a small tree, attaining a height of twenty-five feet; trunk small but
well-defined; branches spreading, bushy, sometimes armed with
spinescent branchlets; young wood slender, more or less zigzag, usually
glabrous, glossy, reddish but approaching a chestnut-brown; lenticels few,
scattered, yellowish, raised.
Leaves oblong, oval-lanceolate or rarely slightly obovate-lanceolate,
one and one-fifth to two and one-fifth inches long, three-quarters to one
inch broad, gradually narrowed at the base, acute at the apex; margins
very minutely glandular-serrate; upper surface glabrous and somewhat
lustrous; lower surface paler, glabrous or sparingly hairy along the midrib
and in the axils of the lateral veins; petioles slender, usually reddish, about
one-half inch long, pubescent along the upper side, eglandular or
sometimes with one or two glands at the apex; stipules small, linear and
glandular-dentate.
Flowers appearing from early in March and before the leaves in the
South, to the middle of April and with the leaves in the North, in dried
specimens about one-half inch broad; pedicels three-eighths to one-half
inch long, glabrous; calyx campanulate, the tube glabrous; calyx-lobes
usually shorter than the tube, oblong and obtuse, glabrous on the outer
surface, glabrous or sometimes sparingly pubescent on the inner, the
margin ciliate, eglandular; petals obovate, gradually narrowed toward the
base, erose or entire toward the apex.
Fruit globose or sub-globose, varying from red to yellow, usually with a
light bloom; stone about one-half inch long, two-fifths inch broad, turgid,
ovoid to elliptic-oblong, obscurely pointed at the apex or sometimes
slightly obtuse, truncate or obliquely truncate at the base, grooved on the
dorsal edge, ventral edge with a narrow, thickened and slightly grooved
wing, the surfaces irregularly roughened.

Yellow Transparent may be considered a typical variety. Type

specimens in the Economic Collection of the Department of
Agriculture were collected at the Eastern Shore Nurseries of J. W.
Kerr, Denton, Maryland, (flowers) I. Tidestrom, April, 1910; (foliage
and fruit) P. L. Ricker No. 2933, June 29, 1909.
In the wild, Prunus angustifolia varians forms dense thickets, the
larger specimens attaining a height of ten or twelve feet. When
budded and grown in the orchard it assumes the form of a small tree
with well defined trunk and spreading branches, sometimes armed
with rather slender spinescent branchlets. It is distinguished from the
species by its usually more robust habit, by its having the young
twigs less reddish and approaching a chestnut-brown in color, rather
longer leaves, longer pediceled flowers, and by the stone in most
cases being more pointed at the apex. Usually in more fertile soil
than the species, it occurs locally from southern Oklahoma through
eastern Texas southward possibly to the Colorado River, and
probably westward to the Panhandle region. As yet, however, its
distribution is not well defined.
Nearly all of the early ripening horticultural varieties previously
referred to Prunus angustifolia belong to Prunus angustifolia varians.
The fruit of the sub-species appears to be superior to that of the
species though scarcely equal to that of the other southern plums
now cultivated. Hybrids between this form and Prunus munsoniana
undoubtedly occur freely both in the wild state and under cultivation.
The varieties Eagle and El Paso have probably originated in this
way. Nearly all of the plums belonging to this species, some twenty
in all, are tender to cold, none, so far as is known, succeeding in the
North. African, Cluck, Jennie Lucas and Yellow Transparent may be
named as representative varieties.

19. PRUNUS MUNSONIANA[139] Wight and Hedrick

 PRUNUS MUNSONIANA

Prunus angustifolia. 1. Bailey Cornell Sta. Bul. 38:58. 1892 (in part). 2.
Ibid. Ev. Nat. Fr. 191-194. 1898 (in part). 3. Waugh Vt. Sta. An. Rpt. 10:99,
105. 1897 (in part).
 Prunus hortulana. 4. Bailey Cornell Sta. Bul. 38:48. 1892 (in part). 5.
Waugh Vt. Sta. An. Rpt. 10:99, 103-105. 1896-97 (in part).

Tree medium to large, from twenty to thirty feet in height; trunk six to ten
inches in diameter; bark grayish-brown, shaggy, furrowed; branches
spreading, rather slender, zigzag, little or not at all thorny; branchlets
slender, zigzag, reddish, lustrous, glabrous; lenticels numerous, large,
raised.
Winter-buds small, short, obtuse, usually free; leaves one and one-
quarter inches wide by four inches long, lanceolate to oblong-lanceolate,
sometimes broadly so, somewhat folded, apex acute or tapering, usually
rounded at the base, texture thin, margins closely and finely serrate, teeth
with small, dark red glands; upper surface bright green, glabrous, lustrous;
lower surface dull green, pubescence sparse along the midrib and veins or
sometimes tufted in the axils; petioles slender, about three-quarters of an
inch long, pubescent on the upper surface, reddish, usually with two
glands at the base of the leaf-blade; stipules linear, glandular, serrate.
Flowers appearing before or with the leaves, season of blooming late,
about three-quarters inch across, odor sometimes disagreeable; borne on
lateral spurs and buds, two or four flowers in a cluster; pedicels one half
inch long, slender, glabrous; calyx-tube campanulate, glabrous, obscurely
nerved, about one-fourth length of the pedicel; calyx-lobes as long as
tube, ovate-oblong, obtuse at the apex, usually glabrous outside,
pubescent inside at least toward the base, glandular-ciliate, erect; petals
one-third inch long, white, creamy in the bud, oval or obovate, margins
slightly erose, abruptly tapering into a claw, sometimes pubescent;
stamens about twenty in number, equal to or shorter than the petals;
filaments glabrous; anthers yellow or sometimes tinged red; pistils
glabrous shorter than the stamens.
Fruit ripening early; globose or oval, shortest diameter about an inch,
bright currant-red, rarely yellow; bloom thin; dots few or numerous,
whitish, large or small, always conspicuous; cavity shallow, narrow; suture
a line; apex rounded or slightly depressed; flesh light to dark yellow, juicy,
soft or melting, fibrous, sweetish, sour at the pit, aromatic; good; stone
clinging to the flesh, varying from about one-half inch in length in the wild
fruits to at least three-quarters inch in cultivated varieties, turgid, oval,
prolonged and pointed at the apex, usually obliquely truncate at the base,
more or less roughened, grooved on the dorsal edge, thick-margined and
markedly grooved on the ventral one.
 The description of this species is based on both wild and cultivated
material, and the variety Arkansas may be considered as a typical
representative. Type specimens, deposited in the Economic
Collection of the United States Department of Agriculture, were
collected by W. F. Wight (flowers) at the New York State Experiment
Station, Geneva, New York, No. 2721, May 15, 1909, and (foliage) at
the Iowa Experiment Station, Ames, Iowa, No. 4178, September 15,
1909.
This species differs from Prunus angustifolia, with which it has
long been confused, chiefly in being a much larger plant, a true tree
while the other seldom reaches the size of a tree. It has coarser and
less twiggy branches, shaggier bark and less red in the color of the
young wood. The leaves are larger, thicker, more truly lanceolate in
shape, less folded, a lighter green and less glossy. The flowers of
the new species are larger, fewer in number, borne in less dense
umbels which are not so nearly sessile as those of the older species
and are borne on longer pedicels. The calyx-lobes are erect in this
species and reflexed in Prunus angustifolia, strongly marked by
marginal glands in Prunus munsoniana and eglandular in Prunus
angustifolia. The fruits are larger and wholly plum-like in the newly
made species and cherry-like in Prunus angustifolia. The stone is
very plum-like in Prunus munsoniana but in the older species it might
easily be mistaken for the pit of a cherry. The robust form is hardy as
far north as Geneva, New York, at least, while the other species
cannot be grown much north of Mason and Dixon’s line.
Of the varieties which certainly belong to this species by far the
greatest number have originated under cultivation. There is
herbarium material from uncultivated plants to show that this species
is rather common in the northern part of Texas, in eastern Oklahoma
and in parts of Missouri. It is a species forming dense thickets in its
native habitat, where it is usually found in rather rich soils, with the
older central specimens sometimes attaining a height of twenty to
twenty-five feet and gradually diminishing in height to the edge of the
thicket. When budded and grown in the orchard it forms a well-
defined trunk and attains a height of twenty-five feet or more. The
branches are little or not at all spinescent, bark of the stem in young
specimens reddish or chestnut-brown, and usually rather smooth,
becoming scaly and losing its reddish color with age, that of the
young twigs usually chestnut-brown. Its natural range, though not yet
definitely determined, probably extends from central Tennessee
through northern Mississippi, northern Arkansas, central Missouri
and southeastern Kansas to the valley of the Little Wichita River in
northern Texas.
The Wild Goose varieties, now placed here, in the past have been
considered hybrids more closely resembling Prunus hortulana than
any other species. But Wild Goose and some other varieties of its
group are not to be distinguished from Prunus munsoniana and
beyond question belong in this species. The varieties in this division
of Munsoniana are largely seedlings of Wild Goose, each variety
possibly with a different male parent since Wild Goose seldom or
never fruits unless cross-fertilized. Thus, of these plums, twelve are
known seedlings of Wild Goose; seven others originated under
cultivation; the origin of fourteen is not known and it is not certain
that any beside Wild Goose came from wild plants. From such a
record, and from the characters of the plants, it is probable that
some of the Wild Goose varieties are horticultural hybrids, many of
them from H. A. Terry of Iowa in whose work, with many varieties of
several species, hybridity was the rule.
Horticulturally, this is the most important group of native plums for
the South; it contains a greater number of cultivated varieties than
any other native species excepting Prunus americana, no less than
sixty sorts being listed in The Plums of New York, some of which are
deservedly the best known of the native plums for either home or
market use. For dessert or the kitchen they are particularly valuable,
having a sprightly vinous flavor making them very pleasant flavored
to eat out of hand or when cooked. Their bright colors, semi-
transparent skins and well-turned forms make them very attractive in
appearance. Considering the juiciness of most of the varieties, these
plums ship and keep well. Unfortunately nearly all of the varieties of
this species are clingstones. This group hybridizes more freely than
any other of the plums and there are a great number of promising
hybrids of which it is one of the parents. Of all plums, these are most
in need of cross-pollination, some of the varieties being nearly or, as
in the case of Wild Goose, wholly self-sterile. While these plums are
especially valuable in the Southern States, some of them are
desirable in the North as well, where all will grow at least as far north
as central New York. Plums of this species are occasionally but not
often used as stocks. Some recommend them for stocks for low or
wet lands. The fact that Prunus munsoniana suckers very badly will
probably preclude its use largely in propagating.
The leading varieties under cultivation of this species are
Arkansas, Pottawattamie, Robinson, Newman, Wild Goose and
Downing, all of which are described in full and illustrated in colors in
The Plums of New York. The first four of these have in the past been
referred by botanists and pomologists to Prunus angustifolia and the
last two to Prunus hortulana.

20. PRUNUS MARITIMA Marshall

1. Marshall Arbust. Am. 112. 1785. 2. Wangenheim Amer. 103. 1787. 3.
Michaux Fl. Bor. Am. 1:284. 1803. 4. Pursh Fl. Am. Sept. 332. 1814. 5.
Nuttall Gen. N. Am. Pl. 1:302. 1818. 6. Elliott Sk. Bot. S. C. and Ga. 1:543.
1821. 7. Torrey and Gray Fl. N. Am. 1:408. 1840. 8. Torrey Fl. N. Y. 1:194.
1843. 9. Emerson Trees of Mass. 449. 1846. 10. Bailey Cornell Sta. Bul.
38:75, fig. No. 9. 1892. 11. Waugh Vt. Sta. An. Rpt. 12:234. 1899. 12.
Bailey Cyc. Am. Hort. 1449, fig. 1901.
P. littoralis. 13. Bigelow Fl. Bost. Ed. 2:193. 1824.
P. pubescens. 14. Torrey Fl. U. S. 469. 1824.
Cerasus pubescens. 15. Seringe DC. Prodr. 2:538. 1825. 16. Beck Bot.
Nor. and Mid. U. S. 96. 1833.

Shrub four to ten feet high, sometimes a low tree under cultivation; main
branches decumbent and straggling or upright and stout; bark dark brown
or reddish, more or less spiny, often warty; branchlets slightly pubescent
at first, becoming glabrous, dark reddish-brown, straight or slightly zigzag
and rather slender; lenticels few, small, dark.
Winter-buds small, long, acute, with small reddish scales; leaves oval or
obovate, short-acute or nearly obtuse at the apex, rounded or nearly acute
at the base, margins closely and evenly serrate, thinnish or thickish and
 somewhat leathery; upper surface glabrous, dull green, lower surface
paler and more or less pubescent; petioles less than one-half inch long,
stout, tomentose or glabrous; glands two, sometimes more, at the base of
the leaves.
Flowers small, appearing before the leaves but the latest of any of the
hardy plums; borne in three-flowered umbels closely set along the rigid
branches; calyx-tube campanulate, tomentose; petals white, sometimes
pinkish, sub-orbicular, narrowed into a claw at the base; pedicels short,
slender, stiff, tomentose.
Fruit maturing in late summer in Massachusetts; one-half inch in
diameter, globose, slightly flattened at the ends; cavity shallow, borne on a
slender pedicel more than one-half inch in length, usually dark purple with
a heavy bloom but variable, sometimes red or less frequently yellow; skin
thick, tough and acrid; flesh crisp, juicy, sweetish; stone free from the
flesh, small, turgid, pointed at both ends, cherry-like, acutely ridged on one
and grooved on the other edge.

Prunus maritima, or as it has long been known, the Beach plum, is

as yet hardly grown as a domesticated fruit. It is destined, however,
in the minds of not a few, because of qualities which we shall
describe, to play a more important part in the future of the cultivated
plum flora than it has in the past. It has several valuable characters
that should fit it alike for direct cultivation and for hybridizing with
other species. It is surprising that more has not been done to
domesticate the Maritima plums for they were among the first fruits
noticed by early explorers and have always been used by both
Indians and Whites for culinary purposes. The fact that Domestica
plums thrive in their habitat is the only explanation of the non-
amelioration of this plum before this.
September third, 1609, Hudson entered the river bearing his name
and found “a very good harbor, abundance of blue plums, some
currants brought by the natives dried and the country full of great
and tall oaks.” The blue plum was the Maritima; and from Hudson’s
time nearly all of the accounts of the New World given by early
explorers mention this plum. It is probably one of the plums
described by Captain John Smith as a cherry “much like a Damson;”
by Edward Winslow in 1621, in a letter to England to a friend, as one
of his “plums of three sorts”; by Francis Higginson in his New
England’s Plantation in 1630; described by Thomas Morton in 1632
in his New English Canaan as having “fruit as bigg as our ordinary
bullis.” John Lawson, one of the first of American naturalists,
describes them rather more fully as follows:[140] “The American
Damsons are both black and white, and about the Bigness of an
European Damson. They grow any where if planted from the Stone
or Slip; bear a white blossom, and are a good fruit. They are found
on the Sand-Banks all along the Coast of America. I have planted
several in my Orchard, that came from the Stone, which thrive well
amongst the rest of my Trees. But they never grow to the Bigness of
the other Trees now spoken of. These are plentiful Bearers.” These
are but a few of the many references to the Beach plum but they are
enough to show that the colonists were attracted by this wild plum
found on a long stretch of the Atlantic seaboard—probably the first
fruit to attract attention from Virginia to New England.
To be more explicit as to its range, Prunus maritima, in its typical
form, is an inhabitant of the sea beaches and sand dunes from New
Brunswick to the Carolinas, or possibly farther south, growing inland
usually as far as recent ocean soil formations extend. As it leaves
the seaboard marked variations make their appearance, chief of
which are, smaller, more oval, smoother and thinner leaves and
smaller fruit. The species has been reported as an inhabitant of the
sands at the head of Lake Michigan,[141] but the writer, who is well
acquainted with this region, has never seen it there, nor is it to be
found in the chief herbaria of Michigan as having been collected in
the state.
In the region where it is found wild the Maritima plum is a rather
common article of trade. The fruit is usually sold by the quart, the
price being five or ten cents, and is used for both dessert and
culinary purposes though for most part for the latter.
The species is one of the most variable of the true plums and
there is, probably must ever be, much disagreement as to its
botanical relationships. Several botanical varieties of Prunus
maritima have already been named and there are yet groups within
the species which seem to be nearly as distinct as those described
and possibly worth distinguishing. Since the variations show in the
size, color and edible qualities of the fruit, as well as in the
characters of the plant, it is to be expected that the species has a
horticultural future though at present it has but one cultivated variety
—Bassett. Professor J. W. Macfarlane of the University of
Pennsylvania has shown well the great range of variations in this
plum both from botanical and horticultural aspects.[142] He holds that
these variations are sufficiently distinct to make many varieties of
this plum in the wild, to which DeVries agrees with the statement that
they indicate “the existence of separate races as elementary
species.”[143] The plum which Small has described as Prunus
gravesii, to be discussed later, is a marked variation of Prunus
maritima.
As it grows on the sea-coast Prunus maritima is a low bush three
to six feet high, occasionally reaching a height of ten or twelve feet.
Usually the plant is straggling but sometimes it is compact or even
tree-like. Inland, on better soils, or under cultivation it makes a rather
handsome dwarf tree. The flowers are borne in great numbers,
completely covering the plant and coming later than most of the
plums bloom. The species bears fruit very abundantly, which is
always attractive but of quite diverse value for food. The fruit varies
in size from a half to three-quarters of an inch in diameter and is
almost spherical, though sometimes oval and with or without a
distinct suture. The usual color is a rich bluish-black with a waxy
bloom, but red, yellow, amber and orange fruits are often found. In
taste the Maritima plums range from inedible to nearly as rich a
flavor as is found in the best of the Domestica plums. Besides
variations in the above and other qualities, Macfarlane calls attention
to the range in ripening of the fruit of this plum, showing that it
extends over a period of two months, an exceptionally wide variation
for a wild plant.
This plum has a number of qualities that commend it to the fruit-
grower. Since in the wild it grows on sandy soils it is not likely under
cultivation to make great demands on either the moisture or the
fertility of soils. It is very hardy and very productive and seldom fails
to bear. It seems to be free or nearly so from some of the pests of
cultivated plums. Lastly, the great number of wild varieties of the
plums give many starting points from which to breed cultivated
varieties. Two objections to the wild fruits are that when the fruit is
harvested the juice often exudes from the wound made by the
parting from the stem, and secondly, the secretion of some
substance forming a dark colored, hard core in the pulp which gives
a very bitter taste to the fruit. The last defect is very common in the
wild plums and is probably due to the sting of an insect. Under
cultivation it may be possible to obtain fruits free from these faults.
It would be desirable if some of the characters enumerated above
could be combined with those of other species. Burbank has
hybridized the Maritima plum with other species, with promising
results. Of these he writes under date of December 6, 1909, as
follows:

“I first began raising Prunus maritima about 1887—twenty-two years

ago—collecting myself and having specimens sent me all the way from
the coast of Labrador to South Carolina, the finest of which were obtained
from the eastern coast of Massachusetts. Among the seedlings, of which I
raised and fruited several hundred thousands, were yellow, red, purple
and almost black ones, early and late, round, oval, oblate and flattened,
with big stones and little stones, free stone and cling stone, and much
variety in productiveness and growth of the young bushes, but not one of
them the first two or three generations were very much increased in size—
probably the largest being about the size of a cranberry or a small
hazelnut—and none of them of very exceptional quality, though their habit
of blooming late was a tremendous advantage, as they invariably escaped
our spring frosts. This, with their unusual hardiness induced me to
continue experimenting with them. Finally after some ten years I obtained
a very delicious variety, about an inch in length and three-quarters of an
inch in diameter, tree much increased in size, larger foliage and more
productive and producing enormous quantities of most delicious fruit.
From this I raised a great many thousand, almost as good and a few of
them even better, several hundred of which have been selected and are
now bearing on my Sebastopol place. Some of these improved seedling
trees grow five to ten times as large as the ordinary Maritima, with larger
leaves and in every possible way improved. My greatest success with this
species (and one of the most striking occurrences in my work with plums)
was produced by pollinating one of the somewhat improved Maritimas with
Prunus triflora.
 “The very first generation, a plum was produced which is an astonishing
grower for a Maritima—almost equal to the Triflora, with large, broad
glossy foliage of almost the exact shape of the Maritima, Maritima
blossoms, and fruit weighing nearly one-quarter of a pound each, with an
improved superior Maritima flavor, Maritima pit in form, but enlarged. The
most singular peculiarity of this plum, which is so enormous, is that the
trees commence to bloom about with the Triflora and bloom and bear fruit
all summer, so that blossoms, young fruit and the enormous deep red
ripening fruit can be seen on the trees at the same time.”

21. PRUNUS GRAVESII Small

1. Small Torrey Bot. Club Bul. 24:44, Pl. 292. 1897. 2. Britton and Brown
N. Am. Trees 2:249. 1897. 3. Robinson and Fernald Gray’s Man. Ed.
7:498. 1908.

Shrub low, slender, attaining a height of four feet; main trunk much
branched, with dark, rough bark; branches ascending, slender, leafless,
unarmed; branchlets of the season puberulent. Leaves oval-orbicular,
orbicular or slightly obovate, rounded, retuse or apiculated at the apex,
base truncate or at least obtuse, margins sharply serrate or crenate-
serrate; upper surface sparingly pubescent or glabrous, lower surface
pubescent, especially on the veins.
Flowers white, one-half inch broad; borne in two or three-flowered,
lateral umbels, appearing with the leaves; calyx-tube campanulate,
pubescent; petals sub-orbicular, abruptly narrowed at the base; pedicels
stout, stiff, pubescent.
Fruit maturing in September; globose, one-half inch in diameter, nearly
black, with a light bloom, acid and astringent; stone broadly oval, rounded
at the apex, acute at the base.

Prunus gravesii is now known only in Connecticut, where it is

found on a gravelly ridge at Groton near Long Island Sound. It grows
in the neighborhood of Prunus maritima to which it is evidently
closely related. Small in describing the species gives the following
differences between the Gravesii and the Maritima plums: (1) Prunus
gravesii is more slender and delicate in habit, and matures its leaves
and fruit earlier in the season. (2) The leaf of Prunus gravesii is small
and sub-orbicular while that of the other is larger and more
elongated. (3) The new species has smaller flowers with sub-
orbicular petals while those of Prunus maritima are broadly obovate
and gradually narrowed at the base. (4) The fruit of Prunus gravesii
is smaller and more globose and has shorter pedicels. (5) The stone
is more turgid and is pointed only at the base; that of Prunus
maritima is usually pointed at both ends. (6) Sprouts arising from the
ground do not produce flowers as they frequently do in the case of
Prunus maritima.
The cultivation of this plum has not been attempted and as
compared with Maritima it promises little for the fruit-grower.

22. PRUNUS ORTHOSEPALA Koehne

1. Koehne Deut. Dend. 311. 1893. 2. Sargent Gar. and For. 7:184, 187
fig. 1894. 3. Bailey Cyc. Am. Hort. 1450. 1901.

Shrub four or five feet high; branches dense and twiggy; stems
sometimes armed with slender spines; bark separating in large, loose
scales; branchlets stout, slightly zigzag, reddish-brown becoming dark
brown.
Winter-buds obtuse, three-lobed at maturity; leaves oblong-ovate, thin
and firm, acuminate, long-pointed, two and one-half to three inches long,
two-thirds inch broad, unequally cuneate or rounded at the base; margins
closely serrate with incurved, calloused or rarely glandular teeth; upper
surface glabrous, light green, lower surface paler and pilose; petioles
slender, slightly grooved, puberulous, one-half inch long; glands two,
large, at the apex of the petiole.
Flowers appearing after the leaves; borne in three or four-flowered
fascicles on stout pedicels one-half inch long; calyx-tube turbinate; lobes
puberulous on the outer surface, with thick tomentum, often tipped with
red on the inner surface; petals narrowly obovate, rounded at the apex,
narrowing at the base into slender claws, white or tinged with pink;
stamens orange, exserted; style glabrous, thickened at the apex into a
truncate stigma.
Fruit globose, an inch in diameter, deep red with a heavy bloom; skin
thick; flesh yellow, juicy, of good flavor; stone flattened, oval, slightly
rugose, deeply grooved on the dorsal and ridged on the ventral edge.
 The history and habitat of Orthosepala are given by Sargent as
follows: “The history of this plant as I know it, is briefly this: In June,
1880, Dr. George Engelmann of St. Louis, sent to the Arnold
Arboretum a package of seeds marked ‘Prunus, sp. southern Texas.’
Plants were raised from these seeds and in 1888, or earlier, they
flowered and produced fruit, which showed that they belonged to a
distinct and probably undescribed species. A name, however, was
not proposed for it, and in 1888, probably, plants or seeds were sent
to Herr Spath, of the Rixdorf Nurseries, near Berlin, where this plum
was found in flower by Dr. Emil Koehne, who has described it under
the name of Prunus orthosepala.”
Of the affinity of this species Sargent says: “Prunus orthosepala is
a true plum, rather closely related to Prunus hortulana, from which it
can be distinguished by the smaller number of glands of the petioles,
by the eglandular calyx-lobes, the dark colored fruit and smoother
stone.” As the writer has seen this plum growing in the Arnold
Arboretum, Jamaica Plains, Massachusetts, and the City parks at
Rochester, New York, it seems well worth cultivating. Mr. J. W. Kerr
writes of it as follows:
 “I have P. orthosepala fruiting here, and with me its fruit is exceptionally
fine in quality, sparingly produced—attributable I believe to the fact that no
variety stands near enough to it for proper inter-pollination. The trees are
rather dwarfish in habit, close-headed, with fine clean foliage. The fruit is
globular in form; size equal to fair specimens of Hawkeye or Wyant; skin a
greenish-yellow, almost entirely covered with deep red.”

W. F. Wight of the United States Department of Agriculture has

collected specimens of a cultivated plum, taken from the wild, locally
known as the Laire, in Rooks and neighboring counties in Kansas,
with foliage very similar to Prunus orthosepela. While the identity of
Laire with the species under discussion cannot be established at this
time, the reported source of the seeds, “southern Texas,” from which
Prunus orthosepela was grown may be an error.

23. PRUNUS GRACILIS Engelmann and Gray

1. Engelmann and Gray Bost. Jour. Nat. Hist. 5:243. 1845. 2. Torrey
Pac. R. Rpt. 4:83. 1854. 3. Britton and Brown Ill. Fl. 2:249, fig. 1897.
P. chicasa var. normalis. 4. Torrey and Gray Fl. N. Am. 1:407. 1840.
P. normalis 5. Small Fl. S. E. U. S. 572. 1903.

Shrub low, attaining a height of five or six feet; branches many,

straggling, more or less spiny; branchlets at first densely tomentose or
soft-pubescent, becoming glabrous; leaves small, ovate-lanceolate or
oval, margins finely and evenly serrate, rather thick, texture harsh and
firm; upper surface dark green, glabrous or nearly so at maturity, lower
surface paler, soft-pubescent becoming nearly glabrous; petiole short and
stout.
Flowers white, small, appearing before the leaves; borne in sessile,
several-flowered umbels; pedicels short, slender, soft-pubescent.
Fruit globose or oval, very small, not more than one-half inch in
diameter, variable in color, mostly in shades of red; stone turgid, nearly
orbicular, pointed at both ends.

Prunus gracilis is found in dry, sandy soils from southern Kansas

and western Arkansas to central Texas. It grows most abundantly